Bliss
by Semebay
Summary: Based on "Bliss" by Muse. Arthur still can't say it.


**Original Publication Date:** April 10, 2010

* * *

Most of the time, everything went wrong. People got hurt, wars were waged, the economy suffered, and he was either shouting at another nation, or trying to beat the shit out of them.

But there were other times, like now, when the rest of the world was the farthest thing from Arthur's mind. There was no fighting, only the occasional grumble, and once in a while a sigh as he tried to figure out how Alfred's mind worked.

Alfred was odd. That was a fact that could not be argued. On the world stage, he was overenthusiastic, talkative, and high-strung. In private? He was still like a child with ADHD, but he was not as excitable. He could calm down in Arthur's presence. And those little... _quirks_ that he possessed made themselves known.

Like now. Alfred was turning Arthur's hand in his, lacing and separating their fingers, pushing them apart and pulling them together. He turned the watch on Arthur's wrist and slid his thumb across the glass face, then slipped it off and held it up in the dim light cast by the chandelier in Arthur's living room. They were both sprawled across the couch, Alfred settled in Arthur's lap with his head resting against the Brit's chest. Arthur had started threading his hands through Alfred's hair, but Alfred had found more interest in holding them.

Just like he always did.

"Why do you do that?" Arthur wondered. Alfred shrugged and pressed their hands together, lining up the fingers and spreading them.

"Mine are bigger."

Arthur shrugged and flexed his fingers. Alfred immediately followed the movement, turning them and bending them even more. He pressed them to his lips and slid them over the skin, and Arthur's own lips lifted at one corner.

He had never been able to just relax and stop thinking, letting his body take over. He was always rationalizing things, measuring and trying to determine how others would look at him. Even before Alfred, he kept up his guise of strict order and a gentlemanly attitude. He was never able to just let his mind wander, and touch the other as he pleased in private.

He envied that about Alfred. So young, so carefree.

Alfred pulled Arthur's hands forward and rested them on his stomach, then picked them up and pressed them palm-to-palm, sandwiching them between his own. He didn't do anything. He just stared at them, occasionally brushing his thumbs over Arthur's and then raising it to press against his lips once more. It wasn't a kiss; Arthur recognized that. But it seemed just as (if not more) important.

"Did you get the reservations?" Alfred mumbled. Arthur nodded slowly, staring transfixed at their hands. "When do we have to leave?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe." Arthur almost didn't want to say it. He enjoyed this time. Alfred may not be jumping around, but he was so _alive_. Those touches, the gentle caresses, motions that weren't meant to be romantic but still rivalled a kiss—it relaxed him. It was like he was basking in the light of the person before him, his usually combative personality temporarily pushed aside so that he could just relax.

"Oh." Alfred's movements slowed, and he pulled Arthur's hands apart, raising the inside of one wrist to his lips and breathing against it, his nose nudging the palm. "We can't cancel?"

"If we cancel, we won't be able to get another reservation for a year."

"They must have some program for successful business men and people in the government," Alfred murmured.

"I'm not abusing my position for a good table at a restaurant."

"That's too bad..."

"I suppose."

Alfred sighed and slowly untangled himself from Arthur, stretching his arms above his head so that his shirt lifted to reveal skin above the top of his jeans. Arthur inwardly mourned the loss of contact, but outside he was already walking to the closet by the door and searching inside for a jacket. Alfred disappeared up the stairs to change out of his jeans and sweater (Arthur had changed his clothes before the American had arrived).

Arthur straightened his watch and checked the time. He had his back to the stairs and one hand on the doorknob, and he waited impatiently for Alfred to return.

"We should catch a movie after this," Alfred muttered from behind him. Arthur almost jumped. Alfred had always had a knack for creeping up on you when you were least expecting it. Alfred rested his chin on one of Arthur's shoulders, and he spoke into his ear. "There's a good one out. Really good."

"Ah," Arthur breathed, then he pushed open the door. The two left in silence, Alfred running ahead to claim the driver's seat as Arthur watched.

He wished he had that reckless youth, and the spontaneity that Alfred displayed so readily. He wished he could show how he felt, and he wished that he wasn't so reserved. He wanted Alfred to know. He wanted to be able to tell him.

But when Alfred watched him approach over the top of the car, he had a feeling that the other knew.

And he couldn't wait for the day that he could confirm the belief, and tell him the truth in his own words.

_I lo..._

He still couldn't.


End file.
